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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781373">A Bitter Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeboba/pseuds/beeboba'>beeboba</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attacks, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:15:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeboba/pseuds/beeboba</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tommy has to face his abuser far before he's ready.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Bitter Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>Tommy clutches onto his phone tightly as he walks the familiar streets to get to his college. His hands were pink from the biting cold, he vaguely</span> <span>wishes that he had worn gloves, but he continues on the path. The snow crunching beneath his boots had become a pleasant background noise to his walk alongside the rapid falling of snowflakes. The brightness of it all hurt his eyes, so he turned his head towards the somber overcast. The thick clouds held a promise of even more snow to come, which sparked a small bit of hope in him. They didn't get snow often but when they did, he found he really enjoyed it. He didn't like the cold however, he remembers when he's forced to shove his hands into his pockets to keep them from turning blue. He quickened his pace and tuned into Wilbur's rant.</span></p><p> </p><p><span>Tommy had asked him to go on call only a few minutes before he had to leave to pick up his work from college since he'd been absent for the past couple of weeks. He had given off some bullshit excuse of catching a cold</span> <span>that Wilbur definitely didn't buy. He kind of wishes that he wasn't so easy to read in moments like these; the last thing he wanted was Wilbur fretting over him when he had already convinced himself he was fine. He stayed in bed for the past week, not doing anything besides absentmindedly scrolling through different social medias, growing accustomed to the dull ache in his mind. He hadn't so much as bothered to talk to any of his friends, which is probably part of the reason Wilbur was so eager to call him when he offered. Tommy told him that he just wanted to chat since he was finally feeling better, the fact that he had to go to his school was just an afterthought. Tommy knew the real reason was that his school caused a great deal of anxiety to swirl in his gut, which is why he had been avoiding it. He really liked that Wilbur didn't press on it</span> <span>and instead shifted to become a familiar voice. Tommy was thankful that Wilbur didn't seem to mind that he wasn't really paying attention to his ramblings; only periodically waiting for a response before going back to filling the silence with his own voice. He wishes that he could truly focus on the words when he's at the doors leading to his school. There's no point in waiting any longer, the logical part of his brain supplies. Just get in, get the work, and get out.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's easier said than done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The corridors seem to meld together and he couldn't tell if he had been walking for hours or seconds. It was a strange sensation not feeling his body move and suddenly being at his destination- his thoughts got foggy whenever he came here. It was almost as if his brain was trying to shut out the memories of this place. His hand rests on the doorknob before he peers into the window of the small office. His blood runs as cold as the snow outside when he catches a glimpse of what's inside. It was a girl with long blonde hair and a short figure, a cyan backpack rested on her shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body tenses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur.." his voice comes out as unnaturally strained and heavy, the word slips out before he can register them. He hums out in response, and Tommy falters knowing he'll actually have to speak again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't think I can do this," the words come out as panicked and quiet, and Tommy can feel his hands begin to slightly shake when a sudden wave of anxiety crashes down on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? What are you on about Tommy?" Wilbur asks, a surprising lack of worry in his tone. Maybe he hadn't heard him, or he thought Tommy was joking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>"No, you don't understand," a sudden wave of nausea rushes through him and he grips onto his phone case, his knuckles turning white, in a last-effort attempt to try and ground himself. He feels frozen in place and he watches as the girl turns around and meets his eyes through the window.</span> <span>He can't move, can't run, can't say anything. He doesn't even have time to explain himself again when he's met with the sound of a door creaking open. Everything was happening way too fast for him, he needed it all to stop.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tom?" It's her voice that suddenly transports him back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The suffocating smell of vanilla perfume. Cold hands grabbing onto his skin. The inescapable ache he felt the following morning.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can't feel it, but he's suddenly running away from it all. His body feels heavy and his movements feel unnatural. He wonders if he's moving fast, or if she's chasing him and he's met with the crushing reality that she could catch up to him in an instant. His body is hot and almost burning, almost in spite of the harsh weather, as he slumps down to the floor in the bathroom stall he's found himself in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tommy..?" he faintly registers the fact that Wilbur is talking to him. Was his voice quiet or were his senses dulled? He wonders how long he'd been speaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What?" Tommy doesn't have to be completely there to know that he doesn't sound like himself, he cringed at how weak he sounded. He didn't want to be weak, especially not in front of Wilbur; a man he's looked up to for so many of his teenage years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What was that all about?" Tommy doesn't know how to respond to his careful words. He didn't deserve his concern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing happened. What are you talking about?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was my fault anyways.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Wilbur's voice sounds too far away and Tommy can feel himself slipping away again, the words seem to melt into each other and he can't recognize any of them. The panic at the thought of losing control again finds its way into his mind. He lays his palms flat against the cold linoleum tiles, nearly begging his body to cool down; silently crying out a prayer to forget what happened to him. The numbness inside of him had ebbed away and he was left with the opposite end of the spectrum; it's an unpleasant reminder that he is in fact still alive. His fingers roughly</span> <span>scrape his wrist where she grabbed him like he's trying to rub away the skin. His breathing is painfully irregular, he can't get a single deep breath in and he squeezes his eyes shut, distantly recognizing the warmth of the tears on his face. He's met with images of the girl on the insides of his eyelids, a dreadful amount of distress fills him.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get off of me. Please. I'm sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy wishes for his skull to just crack right open when he lands a blow to the side of his head, physically trying to force the thoughts out of his brain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tommy!" It's Wilbur's voice again, though it sounds closer this time. Worry is evident in his tone and Tommy finds himself trying his best to respond. To at least let him know that he's still breathing as much as he wishes he wasn't. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he's just let Wilbur listen in on him sobbing his heart out without even letting him know he's okay for... how long has it been?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey big man," his own voice weighs awkwardly on his throat, it hurts to talk. The words felt awfully inappropriate given the situation, because even after a panic attack Tommy was still pretending that things were normal. As if they could just continue talking about whatever was on their minds after this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tommy, what just happened?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost doesn't want to tell him. In doing so, he knows he'd be ruining the carefully thought out persona he had. To Wilbur, he was Tommyinnit; a bright and happy kid, navigating through the world without a second thought. He was someone he could be proud of, someone he could joke around with, someone he could love. Tommyinnit was indestructible. Tommyinnit wasn't scared, or broken, or damaged. Tommyinnit sure as hell didn't have a fucking panic attack on call with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" It's a simple question, but it's all Tommy needs to break. He tells Wilbur, through the hiccup-crying about all that had happened to him. He spares him the details, he's conscious enough to do that. He can almost feel the image of him crack and morph into something rotten; something more tainted. Even merely suggesting the idea that something did in fact happen to him is enough for him to feel nauseous and his hands grip the porcelain in preparation as the older of the two talk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Holy shit, do your parents know?" Tommy can tell that he's trying his best to keep his voice even but he can hear the whispers of anger that lace through the words. It's a good question, but it creates an overwhelming ache in his chest because Tommy </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried </span>
  </em>
  <span>telling people before. He told his mom after he processed everything through a night full of tears only for her to not believe him. He remembers how he tried to call his dad to ask for some advice only for him to tell Tommy that he must've had it coming; that he could've prevented it. Tommy had never been sensitive, he's built an entire personality around having thick-skinned, yet the words became sharp around the edges and stabbed him in the chest, it's why he's tried to deal with it on his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I told the school," he finally decides on after a fair break of silence, "they said they're going to look into it." His voice is flat due to the exhaustion, Tommy finds that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>just wants to be in bed right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Wilbur says softly, and Tommy's once again thankful that he didn't press; he didn't know how to tell him that no one was going to believe him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels strong enough to stand back up. His previously built up embarrassment that he had washed away once he realized that he was alone in the bathroom. The only person to hear his breakdown was Wilbur, he doesn't know whether or not the thought is comforting. The sink was taunting him in a sense. It stood there mocking him, almost as if it knew that no matter how much Tommy used it, he'll never get rid of the memory of her hands on him. No matter how hard he scrubs, he'll never feel clean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you want me to come and get you?" Wilbur asks kindly. Tommy was honestly expecting anything other than the question, but he graciously accepts. He was far too tired to try and maintain his tough exterior; all the fight left inside him ebbs away, and if that worries Wilbur, he doesn't say anything when he ends the call. He can feel bitterness coursing through his veins because it just wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Because he wants to be able to go to college without fear of this happening, he wants to prove it to himself that he will make it out stronger but not while she just gets to walk around as if nothing happened. He slides back down onto the floor of the bathroom, just waiting for Wilbur to come at this point. There's an awful sense of melancholy that resides in him knowing that he can never change what happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because no matter what he did, he would have to live with it forever. Even through the exhaustion and sadness, he wishes that things were different. And tiredly, he aches to not feel anything ever again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would like to note that in no way is this intended to romanticize rape/non-con or any issues relating to that, hope you guys enjoyed and please stay safe &lt;3</p><p>requests are open btw! I'll write practically anything just no ships, you can just comment a request and I'll get to it asap :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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